18
i| The Real j|
II Nan
U By \\
i: FRANCIS LYNDE :[
! 1 IllaitMtlom by IRWIN MYERS j ! '
Copyright by Chas. Scribner's Sons
(Continued)
"T suppose by that you mean that
you'll quit nefore you will consent to
open up on your record'.'" he assum
ed.
"You've guessed it," said the man
who had sealed the book of his past.
Again Williams' took n little time.
It was discouraging to have his own
and the colonel's prefiguring as to
Smith's probable state and standing
so promptly verified.
"I suppose you know the plain in
ference you're leaving, when you say
a thing like that'.'"
Smith made the sign of assent. "It
leaves you entirely at liberty to finish
' out the story to suit yourself," he
admitted, adding. "The back numbers
—my back numbers—are my own,
Mr. Williams, I've kept a file of them,
as everybody does, but I don't have
to produce it on request."
"Of course, there's nothing com
pulsory about your producing it. But
unless you are what they call in this
country a 'crooked' crook, you are
standing in your own light. You have
such a staving good head for figures
and finances that it seems a pity for
you to be wasting it here on an un
dergraduate's job in cost-cutting. Any
young fellow just out of a technical
school could do what you're doing in
the way of paring down expenses."
The cost-cutter's smile was mildly
incredulous.
"Nobody seemed to be doing it be
fore I came," he offered.
"No." Williams allowed, "that's
the fact. To tell the plain truth, we've
had bigger things to wrestle with;
and we have them yet, for that mat
\ ter —enough of them to go all around
\ the job twice and tie in a bownot."
1 "Finances?" queried Smith, feeling
jsome of the back-number instincts
fctirring within him.
\ The chief engineer noddtd; then
he looked up with a twinkle in his
closely set gray eyes. "If you'll tell
me why you tried to kill Burdell the
other day, maybe I'll open up the
record —our record—for you."
This time the cost-cutter's smile
■wan good-naturedly derisive, and it
ignored the reference to BurdelT.
"You don't have to open up your
record—for me: it's the talk of the
camp. You people are undercapital
ized—to boil it down Into ono word.
Isn't that about the way it sizes up?"
"That is the way It has turned out;
though we had capital enough to
begin with. We've been bled to death
by damage suits."
Smith shook his head. "Why
haven't you hired a first-class attor
ney. Mr. Williams?"
"We've had the best we could find, j
but the other fellows have beaten us ]
to It, every time. But the legal end of.
It hasn't been the wholo thing or the
biggest part of It. What we are need
ing most is a man who knows a little
something about corporation fights
nnd high finance." And at tills the
engineer forgot the Smith disabilities
real or inferential, and went on to
explain In detail the peculiar help
lessness of the Tiinanyoni company
as the antagonist of the as. yet un
named land and Irrigation trust.
Smith heard him through, nodding
when the tale was
told,
"It's the old story of the big fish
swallowing the little one; so old that
there Is no longer any saving touch
of novelty in it," ho commented.
"I've been wondering if there wasn't
something of the kind In your back
ground. And you say you haven't any
Belmonths or Morgans or Rockefel
lers in your company?"
"We have a buncji of rather badly
scared-up ranch owners and local
people, with 'olonel Baldwin in com
mand, and that's all. The colonel is
a fisliting man, all right, and he can
M'IOO! as straight as anybody, when
you have shown him what to shoot
at. But lie is outclassed, like all the
rest of us, when it comes to a game
of financial freeze-out. And that is
what we are up against, I'm afraid."
"There isn't the slightest doubt in
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FRIDAY EVENING, HARRISBURG TELEGRAPH MAY 25, 1917.
Bringing Up Father
Copyright, 1917, International News Scrv/'ce "• ~ "• "
By McManus
HERE'b SOME -J Pardon ME • HAVE ♦ "7 MU*bT HAVE. \
s>oNc;t> TO t>ELL 1 Ya y \S. xou kissed ME rT\ V BEEN THE. <;UY y
rn AT THE BOOTH- IM <sLAD , -v |J IN THE MOONLIGHT? j ||| ? h\ THKT'$> HERE I
<*ET RID OF ALU I DON'T AH!HA" |
/
The Honeymoon House
By HAZEL DALE
By Hazel Dale
After Karen Mikal's affair with
Dick she felt as though the world
were too small to hold all her joy.
Running into the Honeymoon House
one afternoon to confide her happi
ness, she found Janet with a wet
cloth fastened over her head lying
down in the big studio.
It was so unusual to find Janet
like this that Karen immediately ex
claimed about it. Janet, who had
answered the knock at the door her
self, answered with a return of her
old spirit.
"I've had a real adventure, my j
dear, and I feel quelled and subdued !
and very much the woman to-day." j
"Tell me about it," Karen answer- |
ed eagerly, deciding to wait to teli j
about her own happiness. , |
"But first I want to tell you that!
Jarvis and 1 know all about you." 1
Janet said, hugging Karen delight-!
edly. "Dick has been here, and he j
told us all about it—at least, ail |
about the fact that you are going [
to be famous as a great actress. He j
didn't tell us much about yourselves, |
but such a change in Dick I have ;
never seen. He seems to have lost
all of his arrogance." 1
Karen blushed delightedly. "But [
I did want to tell it first myself," |
she mourned. "And I could have !
managed it, too, if it had not been i
for the fact that T have been so
busy arranging for the play and get
ting jny part and finishing up some
work for Mr. John Armstrong, and,
oh, doing something every minute,
Janet. But tell me about yourself." i
"Well, mv dear, it's a thing I never ]
dreamed of happening. If another
girl had ever told mo about it I j
should have thought it far-fetched. !
You know what 1 think about indp- j
pendence and so forth. Well, last i
night, Jarvis was out on an assign
ment, and I was lonely, so Neva |
Hart and I went to a play. On the \
way home after 1 had left Neva a j
man began to follow me. Of course j
I was annoyed, you know how any
woman feels under the clrcum- |
stances.
"I knew, too, that it wouldn't be j
very pleasant to be followed into'
the apartment, so after he had fol- j
lowed me for two blocks I stopped!
suddenly, and turned around to look j
at him. He Just stared at me, and I j
said, "See here, are you following j
me?"
Karen was 'too much absorbed to j
even put in a question, she simply'
the world about that," said the one
who had been called In as an expert.
"What I can't understand is why
some of you didn't size the situation
up long ago—before it got into its
present desperate shape. You are at
the beginning of the end now.
They've caught you with an empty
treasury, and these stock sales you
speak of prove that they have al
ready begun to swallow you by lit
tles. Timanyoni common—l suppose
you haven't any preferred—at thirty
nine is an excellent gamble for anv
group of men who can see their way
clear to buying the control. With an
eager market for the water —and
they can sell the water to you people,
even if they don't put their own
Kscalante propect through the
stock can be pushed to par and be
yond, 'as it will be after you folks
arc all safely frozen out. More than
that, they can charge you enough for
the water you've got to have, to
finance the Kscalante scheme and pay
al the bills; and their Investment, at
the present market, will be only thir- i
ty-nine cents in the dollar. It's a neat I
little play."
Williams was by this time far past
remembering that his adviser was a
DO YOU KNOW WHY--- There's More Than One Way to Win Fame ? Drawn for this paper ißy Fisher
SMOKE: FERN* MS V<. SPOOR ? J^BOUT
JT- ,„O \ .N?O <IVE WEFT )
THE! DU&B OUS MF^NJ
IF PI CUY CFTN HFTVE CR> EE THE NAHESFTFCE
WR I H , SSC? d of * D^__N^ d .seyw^K 0 "^
followed everything that Janet was
saying with intense interest.
"Of course, I thought it would
put him to flight, but, instead, lie
simply stepped up to me and said
in a crisp tone of voice:
" 'You just come with me, young
lady. You're too young to be out
alone at this time of night. We'll
see what they say at the Night
Court about young women who
speak to men in the street.' "
Janet stopped for about a min
ute. "Really, Karen, when 1 think
of last night it seems just like a
nightmare, all of it. Could you be
lieve a thing like that would happen
to anvone like me?"
'•'Well, of course, for a minute I
was terrified, but then I began to be
indignant, and I kept getting an
grier every minute. But I did man
age to think. I saw that he was an
officer all right, and I knew that if 1
went along peaceably there wouldn't
be a fuss, so I asked him to let go
of my arm, and 1 went with him."
Karen's eyes were filled with hor
ror. "You let him take you to Night
Court?"
The Night Court to Karen was a
place too horribly unspeakable to
mention. She shivered at the
thought of it. It meant a place of
utter degradation, the shame of
which a girl never recovered.
"You see, I know Miss Brown
down there," Janet explained. "She
is a great friend of Jarvis and the
most wonderful woman I know.
Well, when we got down to the place,
I let the man get me inside, and
then I said to him quietly:
"Would you mind taking me right
to Miss Brown? I think you are
going to regret this evening's epi
sode more than you can say.' "
"Janet. I don't see how you did
it. I should have fainted away on
the spot."
"I didn't know I could do it my
self, until I realized I was in a tight
place. You should have seen that
man's face when Miss Brown put
her arms around me. Why, he just
wilted away; he looked frightened
to death. Miss Brown came home
with me in a taxi, and Jarvis was
home when we got there, and Karen,
he cried, it was awful, everything
was awful, and I feel like the most
effeminate of women. I don't think
I shall ever venture out alone after
dark again as long as I live. It's the
most horrible blow to my pride. I
don't feel a bit like an independent
woman now."
(To be continued)
man with a possible alias and t>re
sumably a fugitive from justice.
"Can't something be done, Smith?
You've had experience in these
tilings; your talk shows it. Have we
got to stand still and be shot to
pieces?"
"The necessity remains to be dem
onstrated. But you will be shot to
pieces, to a dead moral certainty, if
you don't put somebody on deck with
the necessary brains, and do it quick
ly," said Smith with frank bluntness.
"Hold on," protested the engineer.
"Every man to his trade. When I said
that we had nobody but the neigh
bors and our friends in the company,
I didn't mean to give the impression
that they were either dolts or cliuck
leheads. As a matter of fact, we have
a pretty level-headed bunch of men
in Timanyoni Ditch—though I'll ad
mit that some of them are nervous
enough, just now. to want to get out
on almost any terms. What I meant
to say was that they don't happen to
be up in all the crooks and turnings
of the high-finance buccaneers."
(To Be Continued)
"The Insider"
By Virginia Terhune Van de Water
■
CHAPTER XLIV
"I will be down in a few minutes,"
I told Mrs. Gore when she left iny
room. "I must wash my face and
hands and brush my hair first."
"Do not change your dress," she
advised.
"I can't," I reminded her, "for,
you see, I have not unpacked. 1
have listened to your interesting
talk instead."
"She smiled constrainedly. "Thank
you," she murmured.' "I hope you
will try to forget much that I said.
I just wanted you to understand
about these rooms. I was sure you
would be interested in them if you
did. And I knew that if you under
stood you would ask no questions
about them. My brother is very
sensitive in speaking of my poor
sister. I wanted to spare him the
pain of answering any questions."
"I see," I rejoined. "I certainly
would not think of asking him
about such a private matter as his
wife's illness or death."
When she had gone, I sank upon
the couch on which she and I had
been seated, and reviewed, bit by
bit, the conversation we had just
had, I supposed that she had spoken
truly when she said that it would
bo painful to Brewster Norton to
speak of his dead w r ife—the mother
of his favorite child.
Yet she knew me very little if she
fancied that I would ask my em
ployer any questions about these
rooms—as to who had formerly oc
cupied them, and for whom they
liad been so daintily furnished. And
if I had asked, why need she dread
my doing so? I had never supposed
that she was so fearful of having'
her sister's husband wounded.
Then a sudden idea assailed me.
Was she afraid that Tom might
have told me something against his
stepmother? She had probably
noted that he and I were on pleas
ant terms and wanted to prevent his
saying to me anything disparaging
of his father's second wife. Well,
she would never learn from me that
Tom had criticized her. His conli
dences were safe with me.
She had tried to insure his silence
by advising me not to allow him to
talk of the dead woman. It was
not well, she had intimated, for
young people to dwell on sad things.
She had also exacted from me a
promise that I would ask no ques
tions about her sister. It was all
a puzzle to me. But it was none of
my affair.
A Puzzling Query
Having returned to the point at
which I had been at the beginning
of my talk with Mrs. Gore. I arose
and got ready for dinner. No, I
would make no inquiries with re
gard to Grace's mother. She had not
died here. I was not superstitious,
yet I was rather glad that this
pretty room had not witnessed her
demise. How and where had she
died, anyway?
Then realizing that I was asking
of myself the very uqestion that
Mrs. Gore had requested me to re
frain from asking anyone else, I
shopk myself free from these futile
conjectures, got ready for dinner,
and ran downstairs.
Mrs. Gore was certainly an excel
lent manager. In the few hours be
fore our arrival she and the s%r
vants liad made the house look as it
it had been lived in for a month.
To be sure, the entire building: had
been opened, cleaned and set to
rights by the wife of the farmer
whose cottage was within the Hill
crest grounds. But Mrs. Gore and
her assistants had unpacked table
linen and silver and had added to
the place the homelike touch that
only those who live in a house can
give to it.
I paused at the foot of the stairs
as 1 came down, and looked about
me and into the open door of the
dining room, noting the beauty of
all the appointments. As 1 stood
thus, I heard my name spoken soft
ly. Turning, I saw my employer
beckoning to me from the rear of
the huge hall.
"Come here," he said. "I have
something to show you."
The back door and veranda were
like those at the front of the house,
hut at the back the honeysuckles
and rambling roses ran riot as they
did not. at the more heavily shaded
front of the building.
"I just want you to see how love
ly this is, and to smell it," Mr. Nor
ton said as I joined him. "Come oil
outside."
I followed him out upon the ve
randa, and together we stood and
looked and listened, drinking in the
beauty of the early evening.
The sun had set and the whole
world was bathed in a soft pink
after-glow. The air was sweet
with flower-scents; the brook rip
pled musically only a short dis
tance from where we stood; from a
tree in the orchard at the side of
the house a robin whistled, then
was still.
"Ah!" I sighed, ecstatically, "How
heavenly It all is!"
"You like it?" he asked. He was
standing close to me and I answered
frankly:
He Takes Her Hand
"Of course I like it. You must
know that, Mr. Norton."
"I must know it," he said, gravely.
"Dear child—please try to feel that
this is home."
' Indeed 1 shall," I rejoined, try
ing to speak in a matter of fact
tone and starting toward the door.
But he detained me by taking my
hand.
"I wanted just a minute alone
with you on this first evening
here," he said, "to wish you the
happiest summer of your life. It
promises to be a happy one for me,
my dear, because you are here."
"Oh—thank you!" I acknowledged
the words with a laugh that would
not sound as natural as 1 wished.
"I am sure everybody must be happy
at Millcrest."
"I have not always been happy
here." he muttered as he dropped
my hand. "But," with a gesture
that was actually defiant, "I mean
to be happy this summer—or know
the reason why!"
"I hope you may be," I said sin
cerely.
"I will be if" but he got no
farther. For at that moment Tom
came around the corner of the
house.
"Oh, here you are!" he exclaimed.
"Miss Dart, come out on the front
lawn and see the new moon. If you
look at it over your right shoulder
you will have good luck for the
rest of the month."
"Good!" 1 ejaculated. "Show It
to me immediately!"
By the time Tom and I had looked
at the new moon and returned to
the house dinner had been an
nounced, and Mrs. Gore and Mr.
Norton were awaiting us in the dln
ingroom with Grace, who had been
allowed to sit up for dinner on this,
the first evening at Hillcrest.
(To He Continued).
SEES END OF
WOMEN'S SKIRTS
Will Probably Wear More
Comfortable Garments
After War
By MRS. WIIJSON WOODKOW
The occupation or sport must have
its appropriate garment. That's as
necessary a corollary as the hour and
the man.
And now that women are mobilizing
In practically every state In the union
for agricultural work, there is much
agitation over the sort of garments
which shall properly fit the woman
and the task.
The popular vote is for overalls,
and the manufacturers of these use
ful and bucolic garments are already
busy trying out designs. When the
Maud Mullers of this silmmer rake the
meadows sweet with hay, they will
probably do so free of the incommod
ing and hampering skirt.
I wonder if this is the beginning of
the end, if in a few years the skirt
will be on the dust heap along with
the Chinese shoe, and the wasp-waist
ed corset, and the veil of the woman
of the zenana. The prophets have
been predicting it for several years.
I think it was just before the war
that there was an interview in one
of the London papers with Paul Pol
ret, the great French designer. He
said that he had just finished two de
signs which he foresaw would be uni
versally adopted by women in about
ten years. He had had these designs
duly certified by his attorney and
placed under seal for the period tat
ed, in order that his prediction might
be verified. Then to his interviewer
he showed copies of the designs.
In the first, the skirt separated at
the knee into trousers. In the second
there was no compromise with skirts.
The trousers were slightly fuller than
those of men but unmistakably trous
ers.
"t will not predict fashions," M.
Polret Is quoted as saying, "for I dis
own fashion. 1 believe only in influ
ences. If you ask me what is the
transcendant influence to-day, I reply
that It Is the wind of emancipation
passing over women."
I don't keep cjippings or note
books; they add so much to the clut
tering lumber of life; but I did (lie
this prediction, just to see if time
would bring It to pass.
1 fancy, too, that M. Polret had
been sedulously observing the straws
which have long been showing the
direction of that wind of destiny. If
you will gaze at the pictures in some
old fashion book of the nineteenth
century you will see that the lady on
horseback presented a flowing, billow
ing silhouette which, according to the
ideals of the period, was indicative
of a graceful femininity. But Heaven
help her, if she attempted to negotiate
a "trappy" country in the teeth of
a high wind.
A long, white ostrich feather waved
from her hat. and the black velvet
skirt of her habit almost swept the
ground. Imagine being pitched off
and finding yourself all tangled up
In those velvet folds. Ladies thus
panoplied must have been content to
amble along at rocking-horse speed,
or else have been unexcelled trick
riders. Nevertheless, Victorian "mod
esty" demanded It.
But this so-called modesty In dress
Is purely a matter of custom as well
as of geography. The thoughts of
women were widened by the process
of the suns, and the bicycle appeared.
It called for the divided skirt. Women
also found that If they were going
to do any hard riding It was safer to
ride astride; hence, the long coat and
breeches. The trailing, velvet skirt
became not only effete but obsolete.
Daily the sports clothes of women
more nearly approach those of their
brothers, and when it comes to air
planing. there is no difference be
tween them at all.
The necessities of war are creating
new standards, a new outlook, prac
tically a new era. The woman with
the hoe. if not exactly at our door,
is certainly in our backyard. There
is no time for the discission of dis
tinctions of sex. The need of the mo
ment Is results. The work has to be
done as rapidly and efficiently as pos
sible: it is quite immaterial whether
men or women do it. As for the
clothes worn during the accomplish
ment of these tasks, all any one asks
is that they shan't Impede or retard
the worker.
The smock and the short skirt have'
been popular for amateur gardening—
a sort of preliminary or preparatory
stfep toward the overalls, which will
be almost a necessity for real farm
work.
Did you ever weed in your garden,
and prune and plant and fuss about
happily with a trowel and a pair of
scissors and a watering-pot. and not
come into the house later with your
skirt a sight? I never did. That
pesky skirt positively dabbles itself
in the wet soil. You shovel earth all
over It. The watering-pot upsets
itself upon it. and you rise up from
your labors in a shocking mess.
Women will simply flock to join
the great agricultural army of the
coming summer. In fact, they are
already doing so. Feyr occupations
make so strong an appeal to them;
for women are born gardeners. They
leve nothing so much as watching
and tending growing things and
coaxing them to grow faster and
llower more abundantly. It's the fol
lowing out of the maternal instinct.
X know some women land-owners who
manage their own farms very suc
cessfully, and there would be a lot
more devoting themselves to the soil
Fashions of To-Day - ByMayManton
else may
W come, whatever else may
go, the chemise gown
will remain throughout the sea
son, and a very charming, gen
erally becoming and attractive
garment it is. This one is made
JpS. with a separate guimpe and
4- here, the guimpe is of Geor
• 1 gette crepe while the gown
j itself is made of charmeuse
| [ satin. If you want a simple
• | morning gown, you can follow
\J the suggestion shown in the
back view and use serge over
crepe de chine. If you want an
evening gown, you can make
short sleeves and you can use
Georgette crepe forthe blouse
with any silk or satin for the
gown. The banding shown is
embroidered but baby Irish lace
tinted to harmonize with the
silk is smart.
For the medium size will be
needed, yards of material
36 inches wide for the gown,
i/i yards for the guimpe por
tion with 3V£ yards of banding
for the skirt, fl yards for the
girdle and yards of lacefor
)J J .•( IfTW The pattern No. 9387 is cut
AfJ u-A 387 11 in sizes from 34 to 42 inches bust
tjbf I 111 measure. It will be mailed to
yy (JJjlj any address by the Fashion De-
partment of this paper, on re
-9387 Chemise Gown, 34 to 42 Dust. C cipt of fifteen cents.
Psice IS cents.
If they hadn't always been relegated
to the butter and eggs side of th<
industry. And the prospect, of be
coming a real "hand" on one of th
great, modern farms with their vast
fields of wheat and corn, and the com
plicated and fascinating machines i!
use on them, is enough to give anj
woman with the love of the greai
out-doors in her a thrill.
Woman is a practical creature, very
On the farm as elsewhere, she li
going to wear the garments best suit
ed to the work she has In hand. Manj
of the Englishwomen are plowing
planting and harvesting their crops ii
breeches; and Mother Grundy, undei
the stress of hunger, is throwing n<
fits at the spectacle. Tn time of war
when the nations feel the necessity
of utilizing all their resources, nc
one is bothering much about that oii
catch-phrase, "the silent influence ol
woman." With a possible shortage
of food staring us in the face, the
price of onions and potatoes above
rubies, and other commodities taking
to themselves the wings of the dove,
the fireside gives precedence to the
farm.
There are those who assert thai
this use of breeches for sport and ol
overalls for farm work is but th
harbinger of what we may expect
in correct dress for women in the
near future. I would not be regarded
as reactionary. It is purely for aes
thetic reasons that I express a doubt
whether so sweeping a change of
fashion would succeed in materially
brightening the corner where we are.
Skirts may be an outworn badge ol
sex, as some of the modern writers
insist; but the do cover a multitude
of shins.
Remembering this, one feels inclin
ed to take the other side of the fenc,
and echo to our threatened draperiei
Lear's plea to Cordelia.: "Stay a lit
tle!"